


White Nights

by whatthefuckinghale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Twilight Verse, Alive Hale Family, But Werewolves, Derek could totally be Edward Cullen, M/M, Stiles and Lydia are besties, Stiles is not Bella Swan, Why Did I Write This?, oh wow I Twilighted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefuckinghale/pseuds/whatthefuckinghale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After five years of living with his babcia in Florida, Stiles is returning to complete his last two years of high school in Beacon Hills. There he meets Derek Hale - the resident heartthrob with an obvious secret. Stiles, the little shit that he is, is curious about said secret and thinks himself quite the detective. What else is there to expect from the Sheriff's son?</p><p>On the way, he makes friends, enemies and might even have found a bit of love.</p><p>~~~</p><p>The Twilight AU story no one wanted...but I still wrote. I apologize in advance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> Oops…I twilighted.

To say that Stiles was excited would be an understatement.

“I’m coming back, Scotty boy!” Stiles shouted over his smartphone, clutching the piece of plastic as if it was his life-line.

“WHAT?” Scott screeched out from the other side of the phone call. “Don’t joke with me Stiles! Like, really? You’re coming back?”

Stiles zipped his last luggage bag and soaked in his room – bare for the first time in five years.

“Really. I’m flying out tonight. I finally convinced my babcia to let me leave. She wasn't happy, but I told her that I’m old enough to do what I want and I really want to spend my last two years of school with my dad and my best friend.”

“Hells yes!” Scott answered. “What does your dad say?”

Stiles made his way downstairs and into the living room. His babcia was watching a reality tv show, so he quickly changed course and left the house to take a trip down to the beach. Babcia became quiet intense over her reality shows.

“Dad’s ecstatic.” Stiles beamed, enjoying the salty fresh air and ignoring the pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Florida. “I think the main reason Grandma is letting me leave is his promotion to Sheriff. We know that he had been serious about changing because of that.”

Scott’s voice lowered and softened, “Stiles, you aren't here to see it, but he’s doing the best he can and he really misses you. He has lunch with my mom each week and spends most of the time boasting about what you’re up to in Florida.”

“You never told me that,” Stiles spoke, not accusing just vaguely questioning.

“Sorry,” Scott answered not sounding apologetic at all. “Look, I have to go. I’m meeting Allison to go bowling.”

“Bowling?” Stiles snickered. “The last time I saw you bowl, you almost hit me with the ball and I was _ten feet_ to the left and behind you.”

“Allison’s gonna teach me how.”

And that dreamy quality in Scott’s voice signaled Stiles’ cue.

“See you soon, buddy. I can’t wait to meet this girl of yours in person.”

“Yeah. Speak soon!” Scott sighed back.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles had been ten years old when his mother was diagnosed with frontotemperal dementia.

He had gone to school one day only to have his mother and father arrive two hours later, sign him out and take him to the nearest ice-cream parlor (it had been Cold Stone) just to sit him down and destroy his life.

His mother’s decline had been long and drawn-out and painful. She hadn't really been able to sleep or eat, sometimes she would hallucinate, she forgot his name and once (the worst day of Stiles’ life) she hadn't recognized Stiles at all.

She had died just three weeks after Stiles’ eleventh birthday.

Stiles hadn't handled her death well. He screamed, cried, broke things and had more than the occasional panic attack.

Stiles’ father had handled her death even worse. He turned toward the hobby of drowning his sorrows. He had often forgotten to feed Stiles.

When Stiles’ grandmother (his mother’s mother) had visited two months after Claudia’s death, she declared his father’s house to be unfit for an eleven year old boy. His father hadn't even protested when she left with Stiles for Florida.

Stiles had kept in touch with his father and his childhood friend, Scott, over the course of five years and in those five years John Stilinski removed his head from his ass long enough to see what a mess his life was in. He started working seriously again and was finally elected as Sheriff four years later.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles adored flying.

He loved the swooping feeling in his lower stomach as the plane took off. He was fond of the air-hostesses’ little safety routine in the front of the plane. He liked the free service and would even go as far as to say that he enjoyed the food they serve.

But, for once, Stiles was anxious to land. He couldn't wait to feel Californian soil under his feet and the warm embrace of the only parent he had left.

He hopped off his seat the moment the plane settled into place and danced around nervously as he waited for the crew to hook up the tunnel.

Once off the plane, Stiles made quick work of finding his bag at the luggage carousel and walking - bordering on jogging - out of there.

His dad was in the front of the masses people waiting for loved ones to disembark.

Stiles swore that they had a moment where both of them were running slow-motion to each other, but the thought flew from his head the moment his father’s arms were grasping at him, desperately.

“Hey, Dad.” Stiles spoke into his dad’s shoulder.

“Son.” His dad clutched him tighter.

Neither of them said a word about their red eyes as they pulled away.

They rode home in his dad’s cruiser, big bold letters claiming that it was property of Beacon County’s Sheriff Station.

They didn't speak much the first few minutes into the ride. In fact, Stiles’ dad only spoke up when they passed the Beacon Hills Welcome Sign.

“I have a present for you,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Really?” Stiles responded.

“Yep. You’ll see it when we get home. It’s in the driveway.”

They neared the house and Stiles felt a sort of childish excitement rear up inside of him. He was finally going home.

They turned the corner and in the driveway stood an old battered blue Jeep.

“Mom’s Jeep!” Stiles choked out.

“Yeah, I figured you needed a car to drive to school and I know that…that Claudia would've wanted you to have it.”

John pulled his cruiser into the space next to the Jeep and killed the engine.

Both of the Stilinski men took a moment to just stare at the car. It had been such a big part of Claudia’s life and Stiles wanted to cry because the Jeep was his now.

Stiles’ dad broke the silence after another few minutes, “You hungry?”

Stiles’ smile wobbled as the tears threatened to flow. “Starving.”

 

* * *

 

 Stiles had arrived on a Saturday and spent the Sunday turning his old childhood bedroom into something more age appropriate.

His father ordered a pizza for lunch and told Stiles to ask Scott if he was free to join them.

Scott answered with an affirmative and Stiles’ excitement levels took up several notches.

He was finally seeing his best friend for the first time in five years!

Stiles was busy pinning up a _Spiderman 3_ poster when the doorbell rang out. He left the poster to furl over as it was only pinned at the bottom and ran out of his room and downstairs at record time. His dad was already heading over to the door, but Stiles blew past him with a shout “I got it!”

The moment he opened the door Scott stumbled forward and with a mess of tangled limbs and flailing arms the two best friends embraced each other.

“Oh my god, dude, you’re here!” Scott shouted into his ear.

“Oh my god, dude, I’m here!” Stiles echoed.

Stiles could hear his dad’s laugh from the kitchen.

“Come on. We have pizza.” They broke apart and followed the heavenly smells wafting from the living room.

They spent the rest of the afternoon catching up. Stiles told Scott about his friends, school and life in Florida, while Scott told him about what he could expect at Beacon Hills High.

Scott, apparently, didn't have a lot of friends – Stiles found this to be absurd because come on…Scott is awesome.

“Who do you sit with at lunch then?” Stiles asked.

“Uhm…” Scott began, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish. “I kinda spent lunch in the library, but now being with Allison I sit at the popular table, which is kind of awkward, ‘cause I’m not sure they like me.”

“Pssshhhaa,” Stiles scoffed. “Of course they like you. There is no way anyone is immune to the pure puppy-like expressions that is your face, Scott!”

Scott laughed.

“Hey, remember Lydia?” Scott said, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Do I remember Lydia?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh, you mean that strawberry-blonde goddess I've been in love with practically my whole life?”

Scott snickered. “Yeah, her. She’s Allison’s best friend, so you’ll probably be seeing a lot of her.”

“What?” Stiles froze, then lifted his hand and put it over his heart in an overly dramatic gesture. “Still my beating heart. Will Lydia Martin finally know who I am?”

Scott threw a cushion from the couch at Stiles’ face and they dissolved into giggles.

Scott had to leave at about nine at the Sheriff’s insistence as it was school the next day.

Stiles went to sleep with a smile on his face and a feeling that the year ahead would be the best of his life thus far.

 

* * *

 

 The next day dawned with a slight nip in the air.

Stiles was starting school in the middle of the first semester and winter was well on its way.

Nothing could burst Stiles’ bubble, though.

He woke up early with the purpose of making a hearty breakfast for both him and his dad.

His dad came down already dressed in his uniform just as Stiles set down a plate of bacon.

“This is nice,” his dad commented, grabbing a plate and filling it with food. Stiles smiled.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he said, grabbing a plate for himself. “A little birdy told me that your cholesterol is a bit high, thus we are going to start eating heart healthy from this point onward.”

“I’m guessing the little birdy is Melissa?” His dad groused, sounding a little put out but a small smile betrayed his true feelings.

“You’d be guessing right,” Stiles said, biting into a piece of bacon. He looked up to see that his dad was looking at him fondly.

“It’s good to have you back, Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.

“It’s good to be back, Dad.”

After breakfast, Stiles grabbed his backpack – still filled with his books from his old school – and had a quick talk with his dad about car safety before skipping outside, the keys of the Jeep clutched tightly in one fist.

Stiles loved the car. It rumbled underneath him, engine running strong and sending vibrations through his seat. He quickly made his way to school.

Beacons Hills High School was a small school with an average of about 800 kids per year. They noticed when Stiles, with his loud and conspicuous car, rolled into the parking lot.

Stiles ignored the looks while walking up to the front door. He stepped inside and immediately headed to the room labelled ‘Office’.

An intimidating woman with short flaming red hair was commandeering the front desk. She looked up as he stepped inside.

“Ah, Stiles, right?” She asked, showing off her teeth in a dangerous looking smile.

“Uhm, yeah.” He said, hitching his backpack up his shoulder and stepping forward. The name plate on her desk read ‘Mrs Argent’. Stiles wondered whether she was related to Allison.

“Your father told us which classes you took in Florida and we tried to fit them all into your schedule.” She said, opening a folder that had been perfectly placed on the corner of her desk. It seemed like she was a bit OCD as her desk was really neat. “You have an impressive course load.” She added, handing him a copy of his schedule.

Stiles hadn't really had a social life in Florida and spent most of his time doing school work. He now had mostly AP classes.

“Uh, thanks.” He said. She handed him another piece of paper.

“Just give this to your teachers to sign and bring it back at the end of the day.” She said, smiling at him before turning back to her computer. He was clearly dismissed.

Stiles stumbled out of the office and was extremely relieved to find Scott waiting for him outside. Next to Scott was a beautiful brunette girl. Their hands were intertwined between them and Stiles guessed that this must be Allison. Stiles was proud of his friend for bagging such a pretty girl.

“Scott buddy! Thank god you’re here.”

Scott’s smile grew while Allison giggled from his side.

“Help me find my locker and all my classes! I beg of you!” Stiles added before turning to Allison. “My lady,” he greeted with a small bow. “I have no idea why you are holding hands with this miscreant, as I’m sure you deserve much better.”

Scott punched Stiles’ arm and said, “That’s not what you say when you need help finding your classes.”

“I’ll help you, Stiles.” Allison smiled, poking her tongue out at Scott.

“See,” Stiles waved his hands at Allison, “way too good for you, man!”

It turned out that Stiles didn't have a single class with Scott – “Dude, these are all AP classes. You’re fucking smart!” – but had Creative Writing with Allison first hour and luckily, as it was such a small school, everyone had lunch the same hour.

Scott left Stiles in Allison’s capable hands – his best friend’s words not his and he wished he hadn't seen the suggestive wink Scott sent Allison’s way either – since his class was on the other side of the school.

Allison quickly helped Stiles find his locker and he couldn't help but notice the curious looks everyone sent him.

“I’m guessing this school isn't used to new students, huh?” He asked Allison.

“Oh, yeah, not really,” she answered, “but you’ll get used to it and they’ll forget about it after a week.”

“Why, Mrs Allison, do I presume correct that you are implying that I’m not an interesting enough topic to last longer than a week?” Stiles gasped.

Allison rolled her eyes and laughed. “Scott was right. You have a tendency to be melodramatic.”

“I’m so-“

“No, don’t be sorry. I like it. But the point I was trying to make before you had your little drama queen episode – (“ha”)  - was that I was new last year and people get bored fast when they realize that you’re just another normal teenager.”

Stiles finally tracked the right number for his locker and stopped in front of it.

“Well, I don’t really have stuff to put in here yet, so why don’t we head to class?” Stiles suggested, trying to memorize the path he had taken to the locker and hoping that he’ll be able to find it later on again.

Stiles loved Allison. She was funny and smart and had even tried to keep up with Stiles’ sarcastic banter (of course she couldn't, no one could keep up once Stiles had started). They walked to class in no hurry. There were no awkward silences that they wanted to get away from. Stiles could see why Scott was infatuated.

The bell rang just a minute after they entered the classroom. Allison suggested that Stiles stay up front since the teacher will probably want to introduce him to class and give him an assigned seat.

The teacher entered the classroom soon after the bell rang and looked up at Stiles with a friendly smile.

“Ah yes. You must be the Sheriff’s kid.” He said. Stiles winced at the thought of everyone only knowing him as the Sheriff’s son. He handed the teacher the slip of paper Mrs Argent had given him. The teacher – Mr Starke, his nameplate on his desk read – turned to the class and cleared his throat.

“Class,” he began and the teens settled, “I’d like to introduce you to,” he glanced down at the paper, did a double take and lifted the paper closer to his eyes, as if he couldn't see what was written there. “to…uh…Gossss…uhm…gosk…”

Stiles wanted to bang his head against the wall. The teacher was obviously trying to pronounce his real name. The kids in the class started to titter.

“Just call me Stiles,” he exclaimed, startling poor Mr Starke.

“Oh thank goodness!” His teacher answered. “Class, this is Stiles. He has just arrived and I hope everyone will make an effort in welcoming him.”

Mr Starke appointed the seat in the back right corner to Stiles. As Stiles sat down he looked at the front, where Allison was sitting to find that she was looking at him. She gave him a thumbs-up and a blinding smile before turning back to the front.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion. The first two period’s teacher’s had both attempted to pronounce his real name and after the second butchering of it, Stiles approached his other teachers before they could introduce him to tell them that his nickname is Stiles.

Stiles was relieved when sixth hour came and the bell rang for lunch. He rushed out of his AP World History class and started retracing his steps to get to his locker, where Allison had agreed to meet him and escort him to the cafeteria.

 Allison was already there when he finally found his way, but she wasn't alone. Next to her was Lydia Martin, still as perfect and unobtainable as fifth grade.

He made his way to them a little more reluctantly now, because he has no doubt that he is about to make a fool of himself in front of his nine-year long crush.

“Allison,” he greeted the girl when he was in hearing range.

“Hey, Stiles,” she smiled warmly, looping an arm around Stiles’ and turning towards Lydia. “This is Lydia. Lydia, this is Scott’s best friend.”

“[Gościsław](http://www.forvo.com/word/go%C5%9Bcis%C5%82aw/).” Lydia nodded.

Stiles’ jaw dropped.

Lydia Martin had just pronounced his Polish atrocity of a name perfectly…without fault…even with a slight Polish accent.

“How-?” He breathed out. Lydia shrugged.

“I saw your name in your school records. I was curious.”

Then she turned around and loped away with a small bounce in her step.

Allison giggled at the look of awe on Stiles’ face.

“Come on.” She tugged on his arm and started in the same direction Lydia had danced off to.

The cafeteria’s noise dimmed down a bit the minute Stiles entered, but started getting louder after they realized that Stiles wasn't doing anything new or exciting.

Allison stayed with Stiles as he bought his lunch before heading over to a table in the center of the cafeteria. There were six people seated at the table; five guys – one of which was Scott -  and Lydia.

“Hey, guys. This is Stiles.” Allison spoke up. “Stiles, that’s Jackson.” She motioned at a guy with perfectly coiffed hair and an uncanny ability at looking bored and disdainful at the same time. He had an arm over Lydia’s shoulders. “Danny.” The next guy looked like he had Hawaiian heritage and he smiled (complete with dimples) at Stiles. “Ethan and Aiden.” Those were obviously twins as they looked _exactly_ the same. “And of course you know Scott and you've met Lydia.”

Stiles sat down in the chair next to Scott and smiled at everyone else.

“Allison, I think you should stop bringing in strays. First McCall and now this guy?” Jackson sneered over the table.

“Jackson,” Danny warned.

Stiles rolled his eyes and poked Scott at the sad, kicked-puppy face he was making.

Lunch proceeded smoother from that point onward.

 

“Gościsław,” Lydia called out (Stiles found the sound of his real name to be disconcerting and slightly hot coming from Lydia’s mouth). “You’re smart. I want to talk to someone that could at least keep up a bit. Come sit over here.”

She pulled a chair from the table next to them and squeezed it in between her and Allison. Stiles had this feeling that she wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer. He smiled at Scott before gathering his stuff and moving to the other end of the table.

“You know you can just call me Stiles,” he said, once he was properly situated. Jackson was glaring a death-glare at him.

“Don’t be preposterous.” Lydia said, simply. As if that was answer enough.

Stiles waited for her to say something but for the next few minutes she just happily munched on her salad. Stiles took to observing the cafeteria for lack of knowing what else to do.

It’s then that he saw them, sitting in the corner.

There were seven of them, each more beautiful than the next – like above Lydia levels of beauty, something Stiles hadn't believed to be possible. They moved with an animal type grace as they laughed and ate.

“Who are they?” Stiles asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the perfect scene the group created.


	2. The Hales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long to update: REAL LIFE, man!

“Who are they?” Stiles asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the perfect scene the group created.

Without looking up Lydia said, “The Hales.” Stiles glanced at her. She looked a little miffed and Stiles had a feeling she didn’t like ‘The Hales’.

“Stop staring, Gosh-che-slave or whatever your name is.” Jackson sneered. “The Hales are like an elite cult. They don’t do twitchy skinny newcomers.” From the bitter tone of voice, Stiles had a feeling the Hales had rejected Jackson before. A sort of fondness developed for them, immediately.

“Don’t be sour, Jackson.” Danny said from the side.

“I like them,” Scott spoke up, drawing a few glares. “What? They’re nice. I was Cora’s history partner once and she only threatened me like…twelve times.” Stiles barked out a laugh. Only Scott could see the good in people when others couldn’t.

“Which one’s Cora?” Stiles asked his best friend.

“She’s the smaller one of the two black-haired girls - she’s a Junior, like us. Then there’s Laura, she’s the other black haired girl – she’s a Senior.”

The two girls looked incredibly alike, beautiful and graceful, with an air of badassery – as if they could tear your throat out in a heartbeat.

“Their boyfriends are Jonathan – the blond haired dude next to Laura – and Isaac –the curly haired guy next to Cora.”

Jonathan was huge – sort of like a disconcerting mix between a bodybuilder and a surfer. Isaac, in turn, looked like a cherub, all sharp cheekbones and innocent air.

“Then there’s Erica and Boyd. Erica is the blond bombshell and Boyd is the guy built like a tank.”

They were obviously also a couple. Boyd was indeed built like a tank – he was even larger than Jonathan – and Erica just looked like a man-eater. She smiled at something Boyd said, flashing her canines.

Stiles scanned the rest of the table and saw a guy sitting in the shadows next to Laura. He was beautiful - as per pattern, it seemed, with this lot - but he was easily the most beautiful to Stiles.

Stiles had always been for equal opportunity when it came to sexes. Why limit himself to one when he could have the other?

And Stiles _wanted_ that guy.

“And him?” He asked Scott.

“Oh, yeah. That’s Derek. He’s the only single one. He’s Laura’s twin.”

Derek looked up and straight at Stiles. Stiles quickly averted his gaze, because in that moment their eyes made contact, Derek looked pissed off. As if he knew they were talking about him and he didn’t like it.

 

“They’re a bunch of freaks, that’s what they are.” Jackson spat out. “I mean they’re all _together_.”

Stiles was confused. “What’s the matter with them being together?”

Allison interrupted Jackson before he could voice another complaint. “They live together. Mrs Hale adopted Jonathan, Isaac, Erica and Boyd. The only real Hales are Derek, Laura and Cora.”

“See,” Jackson said. “It’s unnatural. They’re practically doing it with their brothers and sisters.”

“They are not related.” Scott protested. “I think it’s romantic.”

Allison leaned over and pecked Scott on the cheek. “And I love you for that.” The grin on Scott’s face was goofy and so fucking in love that it hurt.

“I haven’t said anything in the past five minutes and I find that inexcusable.” Lydia grabbed Stiles’ arm. “So Quantum Mechanics…”

Stiles tried to keep up with Lydia for the rest of lunch, while glancing over at the Hales periodically.

When the bell rang, she shoved her backpack at Jackson and stood up gracefully. “Hmm, you actually managed to keep up. This is the start of a wonderfully friendship.” Then she walked away.

“Dude,” Stiles walked out of the cafeteria with Scott. “I only had a vague idea of what she was saying.”

“Well, usually nobody has _any_ idea, so well done for you.” Scott clapped Stiles on his back.

Stiles was aware that it should bother him that Lydia had friend-zoned him during lunch, but he found that he didn’t really mind that much. Getting to know Lydia now, it was obvious that she would destroy Stiles in a romantic relationship – and not a good kind of destroying. Either way it looked like she was dating Jackson. Stiles had no clue why Lydia wanted to date Jackson as he was a Jackass [ha], but to each their own.

Scott escorted Stiles to AP Chemistry before going off to his own class. The bell rang just as Stiles entered the room. Everyone was already seated and Stiles found this to be strange. In his other classes people still trickled in after the bell rang.

“What do you want?” A harsh voice sounded from behind Stiles. He turned around to find that it was the teacher.

“Uhm…” Stiles muttered. “I’m new here.”

“Ah yes. Slip!” The teacher demanded. Stiles handed the paper over.

“You can call me Stiles.” He told him.

“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want,” the teacher sneered to the amusement of the class. He peered at the paper before glaring at Stiles, as if it was his fault that his name was unpronounceable. “Introduce yourself.” He waved Stiles forward and moved back to his desk to sign the slip. Stiles craned his neck to see the nameplate on the desk for future reference when he tells people he had met the Devil (his name is apparently Mr Harris).

“Hey,” he turns to the class, “my name is Stiles.”

“Your real name, please” Harris smiled, sweet and sticky.

Stiles wanted to melt into the floor, but instead he faced the class with his head held high.

“Hi,” he tries again, “my name is Gościsław.”

The outbreak of laughter wasn’t unsurprising and Stiles just rolled his eyes, stopping suddenly when a dark-haired head in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

Everyone had a partner in the chemistry class and the pair shared a table. The only open spot was next to Derek Hale – the figure that had caught his eye. Derek wasn’t look at him – unlike most of the class – he was, instead, hunched over with a hand curled over the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. He looked as if he was going to be ill.

“Go sit, Stilinski.” Mr Harris had obviously given up on pronouncing Stiles’ real name and was seemingly too proud to call Stiles by his nickname.

Stiles made his way over to his chair, noting that every step he took Derek would hunch over even more, until he was practically curled up in a ball.

Stiles slid into his seat, withholding a wince when Derek scooted his chair away from him.

_What the hell was up with the guy?_

The rest of the hour continued in a similar fashion, Derek perched at the edge of the table, one hand gripping the table and the other covering his mouth and nose as if he smelled something bad (Stiles tried to surreptitiously sniff himself, but he could only smell his citrus body-wash).  Mr Harris seemed to have it out for Stiles, asking him frequent questions and failing at covering his surprise when Stiles answered right.

In short, it was the weirdest, most uncomfortable and most frustrating class Stiles had ever been in.

Stiles was planning on asking Derek what his problem was at the end of class, but when the bell rang, Derek jumped up and practically ran out of the room.

“Douche,” Stiles muttered under his breath, trying to will away the feeling of rejection rising up in his chest. While he was gathering his things a shadow fell over the table and Stiles looked up to see a blonde-haired girl watching him.

“Hi, Stiles, right?” The girl said, bouncing on her toes and beaming at Stiles.

“Yeah.” He picked up his backpack and stood up, walking to the door with the girl following from behind.

“I’m Heather,” she continued, “I figured that I can help you get to your next class.”

“No thanks, I have gym and my friend told me it’s outside, so it won’t be that difficult to find.” Stiles knew that he was being a little rude, but he was still miffed at Derek’s behaviour. Stiles was aware that he shouldn’t be; everyone at lunch had warned him that the Hales keep to themselves and Stiles has no idea why he thought that he might be the exception to the rule.

“You have gym?” Heather’s smile intensified. “Great! So do I. We can walk together.”

Stiles smiled at her, wanly.

On their way outside, Heather made a small noise as if to get Stiles’ attention before asking: “So did you stab Derek Hale with your pencil or something?”

So, it wasn’t Derek’s normal behaviour? Great, somehow Stiles had aggravated the school’s favourite recluse.

“No, I don’t know, he was acting weird the whole time.” Stiles sighed. They walked through a set of double doors and outside onto a field, where a man with crazy eyes and a bird’s nest for hair was busy yelling at a boy.

“How do you forget your gym clothes four days in a row, Greenberg?! Is the simple task of packing a pair of shorts and a shirt so profoundly difficult? You,” he pointed at the student, who seemed to be quivering. “You are the reason I drink every night until I pass out!” Then he turned around, dramatically, and walked to the bleachers where he could glare at the students, muttering obscenities that were kind of inappropriate for a school teacher to say.

At least the commotion distracted Heather from their topic of conversation.

“That’s Coach Finstock,” she whispered into Stiles’ ear. “If you call him anything but Coach, he’ll make high school a living hell for you.” She pointed at Greenberg in example. “He also teaches Economics.”

Stiles was never so glad that he had taken Economics in freshman year. Stiles nodded at Heather and she left him for the girls locker room to change. He hesitantly made his way over to Finstock.

“Uh hi, Coach?” He muttered, when he was in hearing range.

Finstock eyed him warily. “What?”

“I’m new here and…”

“Oh yes, Bilinski, right?”

“Uh…actually it’s Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski.”

“I don’t actually care. Buy gym clothes at the front office and make sure you bring it tomorrow, as well as a lock for your locker – because trust me...there are some deviants in here. For today…uhm…just sit on the bench.” He waved his hand at the seats.

Stiles gladly took a seat, pleased that he was missing a day of having to force his gangly body into doing something productive.

Gym was an experience. Stiles realized that Greenberg acted as a sort of scapegoat for Coach, receiving the brunt of Coach’s insults and punishments. Coach mostly just made everyone run around the field. Stiles just sat to the side, waiting for the hour to be over so that he could go home or chill with Scott or something.

When the bell finally rang, Stiles made his way to the front desk to hand in the slip the teachers signed and to buy his gym clothing – he was glad he grabbed his wallet that morning.

Inside the room where the front desk was, a figure was hunched over Mrs Argent’s desk. Stiles quickly recognized it as Derek Hale, the broad shoulders and animalistic shifts of muscles were unmistakable.

“Look, I need you to set your petty feud with my family to the side and change my class,” Derek growled. Stiles frowned at his tone of voice. Derek sounded desperate, almost as if he was in pain.

“Derek,” Mrs Argent answered with an icy tone, “there aren’t any openings in other classes. Even if I wanted to help you – which I don’t – I couldn’t.”

Derek took a deep breath and stiffened. He slowly turned around and glared at Stiles with an insurmountable amount of hate. The muscles in Stiles’ chest contracted and a chill ran down his back in fear. It was an instinctual fear, as if it was only Stiles’ body that was reacting, not his mind. Derek stalked passed Stiles and out of the room.

Stiles shook off the residual adrenaline that the fear had brought up and stepped forward. He thought he heard Mrs Argent muttering, “Animal,” at the door, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t ask.

Instead he asked, “What class was he trying to change, Mrs Argent?” He had a pretty good idea which one it was.

“AP Chemistry,” she sneered at the door. Stiles’ heart sunk. Did he offend Derek Hale so much that he needed to change classes? Of course, Stiles dismissed the thought immediately as he wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe that he had that strong of an effect on anybody.

“Here’s the slip,” he said, shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, “and Coach Finstock told me that I could buy Gym clothes here?”

Mrs Argent seemed to relax after a while and Stiles couldn’t help but think back at Derek’s words: “ _I need you to set your petty feud with my family to the side…”_

Stiles had to admit that the Hale family was sparking a curiosity within Stiles that usual led to bad things. They all seemed so cut off from the world, living inside their own bubble and Derek’s rude behaviour was only strengthening Stiles’ resolve to figure him out. It seemed a little research was in order, as well as a talk with Allison – mostly to find out if she’s related to Mrs Argent and if so, what her family’s deal with the Hales were.

Mrs Argent gave him his gym clothes and dismissed him with only a slightly politer version of “fuck off”.

Stiles all but ran out to his Jeep, excited at the possibility of researching something – he loved all detective work, what can he say…it ran in the family.

Scott was waiting at his Jeep.

“Hey, buddy!” Stiles said. “Wanna hang out?” Stiles was a little bummed that he’d have to postpone his research, but nothing came before his best friend.

Scott smirked at him, “Hell yeah, I’ve been wanting to beat you at CoD since I got an X-box, man!”

Stiles rolled his eyes and unlocked his Jeep. “It’s adorable that you think you stand a chance, Scotty my boy.”

Both boys jumped into the car and set off.

Research could wait until later, for now Stiles could enjoy time with Scott and ignore the curiosity burning in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there's something specific you guys want from the Twilight books/movies!  
> Follow me on Tumblr (I have no idea what I'm doing though...) at whatthefuckingderekhale.tumblr.com


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